


What woman gives another woman a trip to Paris?

by heart_nouveau



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, F/F, Hotel Sex, Lingerie, POV Margaery, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/heart_nouveau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rising political star Daenerys Targaryen invites her campaign manager Margaery Tyrell on a trip to Paris... and you know what they say about women who do that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What woman gives another woman a trip to Paris?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohraokara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohraokara/gifts).



> For [Katie](http://elisebooman.tumblr.com), who asked for some Dany/Margaery. And a big thank you to [sexghosts](http://sexghosts.tumblr.com) for helping me with the political backstory!
> 
> As for the slightly random setting and scenario... what can I say? It just crawled into my head and demanded to be written. As you do.

 

 

 

Every time Margaery Tyrell’s heels sank into the gravelly, slightly muddy ground of the riverbank, she winced internally. She definitely wasn’t dressed for this. 

Appearance had always been a point of pride for Margaery: she might have undergone some very well-publicized career changes in the past few years, but she _always_ knew how to dress the part. So when her latest boss met her outside her Parisian hotel room at 7 a.m. that morning, gave Margaery an amused once-over, and asked wryly if she wanted to change into something more comfortable, Margaery didn’t bat an eye. Unless they were planning to climb a mountain, her heels were going to stay on. You never knew when you might be photographed.

“Where are we going?” she asked and Daenerys Targaryen raised both pale eyebrows, looking disconcertingly young in her jeans, grey zip-up sweatshirt, and Tretorn sneakers. Anyone seeing her now would struggle to recognize her as the fiery candidate campaigning for governor in notoriously red Texas, the same woman who’d earned a special brand of infamy before age one thanks to her family’s past. Dany crossed her arms over her chest, looking almost childishly sly. “Oh, I can’t tell you that.”

“Then I don’t see any need to change,” Margaery said lightly, and Dany laughed and led her out to the waiting car.

Although she didn’t know what kind of tourist Dany was—she knew surprisingly little about Dany on a personal level, despite having worked for her for months now—Margaery had guessed this would be a shopping trip to the Galeries Lafayette, or maybe an easy morning stroll through the tourist-friendly Jardin du Luxembourg and down the Champs-Élysées. Any of the usual Paris sightseeing destinations. Margaery could walk in heels for days, so she’d worn a chic lavender silk blouse with sleeves that trailed to her elbows, a black tulip pencil skirt, and the Bruno Magli heels that were currently fighting the good fight against the bank of a depressing concrete-sided creek somewhere in Montmartre.

Margaery might have guessed wrong, but she wasn’t about to admit her mistake. Dany turned back, one corner of her mouth tugging up slightly. “Doing all right?”

“I’m great,” Margaery said, flashing a steady smile, and Dany gave a little laugh. “Well, there’s that American optimism that I love.”

It was clear from day one that Daenerys Targaryen regarded Margaery as a bit of a curiosity, and Margaery knew her particular pedigree had been a draw when Dany hired her as campaign manager. (A twice-widowed politician’s wife and photogenic tabloid staple who suddenly wanted to get into the game herself, the hard way? Margaery’s story was unusual even by political standards.) But within six months Margaery had handily earned her keep—Dany won the Democratic gubernatorial primary in June by an impressive margin, and currently held a surprisingly high approval rating with voters throughout the state.

After the primary, Dany had unexpectedly announced she would jet off to Europe for a much-needed vacation, and before the dust even had time to settle in campaign headquarters she’d stopped by Margaery’s desk with a smile that made Margaery’s stomach turn in a good way. When Dany invited Margaery to join her, on her dime, Margaery knew as well as her employer did that it wasn’t really a question.

She watched now as Dany moved down the edge of the riverbank, surefooted in her sneakers. The shorter woman shook her head, white-blonde hair falling around her face, and she looked utterly at peace in the humid morning air. Not for the first time, Margaery had to wonder why they were here.

Here at this creek, specifically. Margaery had always wanted to come back to Paris—the last time she was here was with Renly before their wedding, and _God_ , that felt like several lifetimes ago. They’d spent all day half-naked at the Hotel Crillon sharing champagne with Loras and a very expensive call girl who’d given Margaery the best head Margaery had ever gotten in her life.

This was clearly shaping up to be a different kind of trip.

“Here,” Dany said, coming over and offering her arm to help Margaery down the steep last few inches. Gratefully bracing herself against Dany’s unexpectedly strong grip, Margaery shuffled down until she stood squarely on the concrete bank of the tiny creek.

Picturesque it was not. It was a still July morning, and litter and graffiti decorated the scene like the aftermath of a party that had ended days ago. The sullen, already hot air seemed like the very definition of a hangover, or _gueule du bois_ as they said in French. Margaery had studied Spanish in school, which was more practical for someone hoping to enter U.S. politics, but her brother Loras had taken the opposite route and fed her choice bits of French like someone picking gourmet chocolates out of a box. When she’d told him via long-distance call that she was on her way to Paris for a vacation _á deux_ with her boss, he’d snorted and said, “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Sleeping your way up the ladder,” her favorite brother had always used to say, “is not a good look.” But that was before he fell in love with Renly Baratheon and dragged Margaery down with him. Loras hadn’t left his apartment in nearly fifteen months, since Renly’s heart attack; Margaery loved him, but it was time to move on. She was doing this for him, for her family, for all of them—her grandmother hadn’t worked this hard for the Tyrell name to tarnish like unpolished silver after their recent rash of political bad luck. If Margaery had to hitch herself to a rising star, she was going to choose that star this time. And she was tired of sham marriages.

“I remember coming here when I was a kid,” said Dany suddenly. “Sitting right here, smoking all night, getting drunk on cheap wine.”

Margaery turned to her, brow furrowing. “I don’t…”

“My brother and I lived here for about a year, in the middle of the ‘90s. In Paris,” the younger woman clarified. She sent a sharp glance at Margaery, who was apparently doing a bad job of concealing her surprise. Well, fine, she was a bit off her game—it was 8 a.m., she hadn’t had a bite to eat, and for once in her life she was overdressed. Margaery composed herself, smoothing one hand over her blouse. Damn this heat; she was already sweating. “Really?”

“You do know that I grew up in Europe?” Dany was looking at Margaery steadily, and suddenly Margaery saw this for what it was. A test.

“Yes, of course,” she said honestly. Anyone who worked for a political figure was briefed on the ins and outs of their history, and Margaery had quickly memorized Dany’s past—not that there was much in Dany’s official bio that Margaery hadn’t already gleaned from a steady childhood diet of society pages and tabloids. But in the whirlwind of the past few months, all Margaery’s knowledge of Daenerys Targaryen seemed to start with her first day on the job when her new boss, who was much smaller in person and also disconcertingly attractive, had introduced herself with a terrifyingly serene smile, and a soft but steely, “You can call me Dany.”

All right, so Dany had grown up in Europe. But anyone who’d ever leafed through a copy of _Vanity Fair_ knew that Daenerys Targaryen’s story had really started at 16, when she’d returned to America as one of the two living political heirs to the New York Targaryens, finished her education at an exclusive school in New York, lived through her brother’s traumatic suicide, and immediately married the infamous Independent politician Khal Drogo. A former WWE wrestler, Drogo had gone on to win the governorship of Texas.

While her husband was in office Dany had joined the political scene on her own, running on a platform that championed green energy initiatives and immigration reform. She’d risen to become Austin’s mayor. When Drogo died unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm, Drogo’s lieutenant governor had inherited the office; but his term would be up in November, and Dany had wasted no time in launching her own campaign for her dead husband’s seat. Thanks to her family legacy she was already a household name, albeit one that attracted a certain brand of shabby glamour—and it was Margaery’s job to make that name seem all-American and squeaky clean.

“We were basically street kids,” Dany said, gazing around at the dismal little creek. She’d told Margaery it led into the Seine, but it was hard to tell by looking at it. “We lived here, Amsterdam, Berlin, more cities than I can count—all by the time I was 15. That’s when my parents’ trust fund managers finally caught up to us and we shipped over to America.” She gave Margaery a bright little half-grin, her white blonde hair falling softly around her face. Margaery could see her suddenly as that young kid, the past twenty years falling away.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Margaery said, and the petite woman shrugged.

“Everyone thinks they know my story,” she said. “But it’s not that special. My grandma had her debutante ball at the Plaza, but I grew up in places like this.”

“So…” Margaery crossed her arms, feeling perspiration gathering at the nape of her neck. She didn’t have to finish the question. Dany raised one pale eyebrow, with the precision that had always seemed uncanny.

“You’re wondering why I brought you here.”

Margaery licked her lips and smiled neutrally. She was excellent at guessing what other people were thinking, but Dany was opaque to her. It would be a lie if Margaery said it didn’t throw her off. “Yes.”

“Well.” Dany turned away and walked down the concrete embankment, kicking a few pieces of garbage out of the way with the toe of her sneaker. She turned around, hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. “Apart from wanting to revisit this place for old times’ sake… let me start from the beginning.”

She paused to clear her throat, looking startlingly pretty in the ambient morning light. The bridge of her nose was dusted with freckles, like a sprinkling of cinnamon, and her eyes were calm and steely as she looked at Margaery.

“I didn’t trust you when you came into my office,” Dany said. “Why would you want to work behind the scenes for someone who was just starting out? Given your background, I thought you might be a plant. It was hard to understand why you’d want to start at the bottom.”

Margaery closed her eyes briefly. Was she about to get fired? Why would Dany drag her all the way to Europe to do the honors? “That’s quite the risk you took,” she said evenly.

“That was before you worked harder than the rest of my campaign staff put together.” Dany angled her head with military precision, sizing Margaery up. “And that was before you delivered on the primary.”

Margaery didn’t say anything.

“Well, I’m letting you know that I trust you now, and I want you to stay with me through November. Can I trust you?”

“Yes,” said Margaery. Relief crashed over her like a tepid wave. “Is... that all you wanted to ask me?” It was one of the stranger conversations she’d had. The other woman’s words didn’t match up with the tone of her voice, and the question she was asking was too simple for what her body implied.

Dany considered for a moment, before her eyes flickered with levity. She was always so serious that it surprised Margaery to see her flashes of humor. “Well, there is one more thing.”

Margaery saw it happening before she felt it, and registered the feeling. Dany stepped forward and put one small hand on Margaery’s breast, running her finger over Margaery’s nipple, which instantly hardened to the touch. Under her silk blouse Margaery was wearing a lacy bra, no more than expensive scraps of fabric, the kind of bra that was meant to be taken off by someone else, and the contrast of sensation made her shudder. It was almost surreal—as if the line between fantasy and reality had been blurred and the two had begun to overlap. Margaery blinked down at Dany’s hand, her body responding of its own accord.

Dany gazed up at Margaery serenely, as if she weren’t fondling her female employee in broad daylight in the middle of a foreign city. “I want you to know that you don’t have to say yes to this. You can say no; we can walk away and pretend this never happened. This is not something you need to do to keep your job. So we’re clear.”

Margaery was quiet for a moment. She had become used to working behind-the-scenes, all but invisible. After being in the spotlight for so long, it felt nice to cater entirely to another person’s success—and for months she’d thought only of Dany’s image, public approval, and gains in the polls. It was a bit of a shock to have her view reframed—to realize that Dany had been watching her the entire time.

But mostly she was thinking, _How the hell could I have missed this?_

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she said slowly, her voice growing more suggestive as realization clicked into place.

Dany blinked up at her. She didn’t move her hand from Margaery’s chest, but a bold look crossed her face. It was almost smug: an expression Margaery had seen dozens of male politicians wear before. “I’ve been watching you, Margaery. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“I… ” breathed Margaery, and with a rush all the natural flirtatiousness she’d tamped down these past six months came back. No one had touched her like that in over a year. Something snaked through the back of her mind, chastising her for being so obvious—Margaery had only been observing Dany like any staffer would; she had no idea that any other interest had bled into it—but she pushed it away. Something told her that the reward here would outweigh her doubt. She very slowly arched her back to rise further into Dany’s touch and didn’t take her eyes off her employer, giving Dany a burning, coy look. So Dany wanted to seduce her female employee? Fine. Margaery would let herself be seduced, and she would do it better than anyone else could.

The slight wariness on Dany’s face cleared like clouds after a storm. “So this is okay?”

Margaery nodded, reached down, and cupped Dany’s head in both hands, gently running her fingers through the white-blonde hair that was exactly as soft as she’d imagined—because even though Margaery had done her best to be all business, she hadn’t been able to help wondering what Dany felt like. She was only human, and Dany was gorgeous, with the child-woman appeal of a razor-sharp Marilyn Monroe. Looking at that face, it was easy to forget that she was a rising star on the Texas political scene—and poised to go much farther, if Margaery had anything to do with it. But Margaery never forgot important things like that, not even when another woman was kissing her with a mouth as soft as an angel’s.

Dany’s hands ran up the sides of Margaery’s arms, over the slick fabric of her silk blouse, and Margaery shivered reflexively. “You’re hot,” Dany murmured against her mouth.

Margaery fought back her trembling. “Only a little.”

“Mmm,” murmured Dany, pressing her mouth over Margaery’s. Margaery closed her eyes, arousal tingling in her skin. There was a bit of tugging at her waist and then she let out a tiny breath of surprise, eyes popping open. Dany had pulled the blouse from Margaery’s skirt and put her hand up under it to rest against Margaery’s abdomen.

Dany’s hands were cool, and Margaery’s stomach tensed instinctively then relaxed. Dany moved her hand to cup the curve of Margaery’s waist and Margaery felt heat gathering between her legs, quickly and pleasantly. She bit at Dany’s lower lip, and groaned to feel Dany’s mouth pressing hotly back against hers.

Margaery was wearing rose-colored lipstick but Dany, as far as Margaery could tell, wasn’t wearing makeup at all. When they pulled away, Dany’s lips were smeared with pink. She glanced up at Margaery, eyes as teasing as a kid’s.

“Better?”

“Much better, thank you,” Margaery said with a toss of her head. She dipped her head, trying to keep her composure, but it was hard when Dany was smiling at her naughtily like that. Margaery tucked her lavender silk blouse back into the waist of her skirt, smoothing it down, achingly aware of how wet she was.

“Well, come on,” Dany said after a moment, pressing a kiss to the side of Margaery’s mouth and giving her a little pat on the butt. “Let’s go do some real sightseeing. And I think I owe you some breakfast, after dragging you out here like this.” _And feeling you up_ , her tone added, but Margaery was surprisingly okay with that. More than okay.

“At least one pain au chocolat,” she interjected, raising an eyebrow. “And an espresso. That’s my going rate.”

Dany laughed throatily, fingertips grazing Margaery’s waist. “Sure. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“What was your favorite part of the day?” Dany asked as they traipsed back into Dany’s hotel suite late that afternoon, exhausted after hours spent touring the city. Margaery had spent the day waiting half-dizzily for Dany to finger her in the car, or to drag her into one of those tiny Parisian bathrooms for some actual French kissing, but nothing had happened. She’d spent the entire day watching Dany’s every movement, goosebumps of anticipation breaking out whenever Dany’s fingers brushed her arm or her waist, and—nothing. She’d never been so turned on in her life. No wonder they called Paris the City of Love.

“I liked Sacre-Coeur,” Margaery said smoothly. “I’ve always had a fascination with places of blind worship.”

There was an appreciative soft laugh behind her. Margaery turned around and Dany was right there, crowding into her personal space. She let out a low sigh, lowering her hands to Dany’s waist. “God, I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” she said, letting her voice trail away into a purr as she angled her mouth over the shorter woman’s.

“That’s funny,” Dany said calmly, “because I’ve been wanting to do _this_ to you all day.”

With a flash in her blue eyes, she arched an eyebrow and pushed Margaery backwards onto the bed. Margaery let out a squeak as she landed on her back, bouncing slightly on the lush mattress. Hardly skipping a beat, Dany dropped to her knees and started shimmying Margaery’s skirt up around her waist. She raked her nails down Margaery’s thighs, over the tops of her black stockings, and down to her calves.

Margaery closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the blind feeling. “Oh my—”

Dany unzipped her sweatshirt and tossed it away, so that she was wearing only a simple white T-shirt. She raked her nails back up Margaery’s right thigh, so tenderly that Margaery threw her head back and whined.

“Do you like that, Margaery?” Dany whispered, looking like she knew exactly what the answer was. She slipped one thumb over Margaery’s clit through Margaery’s lace panties and Margaery’s hips jerked involuntarily. “Oh. I _know_ you like that.”

She slipped a few fingers inside Margaery and glanced up, eyes alive with delighted color. “You’re so wet.”

“Just for you,” Margaery said in a choked half-whisper.

Dany lowered her head to kiss Margaery’s lace-covered cunt. “Have you been walking around like this all day?”

“Yes,” Margaery said bluntly, unable to sweet-talk any longer. She wriggled around Dany’s fingers, aching for them to go further.

Dany smiled, pushing in further and thumbing Margaery’s clit in a way that made Margaery gasp. “Then I guess this is the least I can do.”

She pulled down Margaery’s lace panties to Margaery’s knees, pushed Margaery’s skirt up around her waist, and sealed her mouth over Margaery’s cunt, working her fingers like a professional. She proceeded to eat Margaery out so hard that Margaery’s eyes rolled back in her head, and there might have been some screaming involved—Margaery wasn’t exactly conscious for all of it. It was that good.

“Now let’s go take a shower,” Dany ordered, and Margaery exhaled in a way that would have been a laugh if she weren’t breathless, her body still shaky with release.

“Anything you say, Governor,” she breathed, and Dany laughed, pushing a hand over Margaery’s mouth. Margaery wanted to lick Dany’s palm, suck on all of her fingers. “Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it.”

“I’m being serious.” Margaery rolled over, unhooking the clasps of her bra. She turned to see Dany watching her appreciatively, so she went a little slower, pulling the straps suggestively down over her shoulders. “I’m going to put you in that governor seat. And further, if I can help it. Senator, congresswoman… you can do it, and I can help you.”

Dany was suddenly all business. “And what do you want from this?”

Margaery paused in undressing herself, putting both hands on her knees.  Dany had stepped back, eying her like she was a puzzle to be solved. “What do you mean?”

“What are you hoping to get out of it?” Dany said, raising her eyebrows. Her face was suddenly blank. “Apart from a marginal salary that I’m sure is far less than your family provides you, and a lot of sleepless campaign nights.”

After the way Dany had just made her come, Margaery figured she sort of owed the other woman a bit of honesty. “I want the chance to earn something in my own right. Being a political spouse isn’t a career in and of itself—and though I _do_ want to run for office in the future, I didn’t want anyone saying that I bought a political seat with my family’s money.” She paused, taking in the calm expression on her employer’s face. “So I want a position in your staff, no matter where you end up. And after that, if I leave you, I’ll be sure to let you know in advance. I’m not out to steal your seat from under you.”

Dany seemed intensely satisfied with that answer. “So, you work hard for me and I’ll work hard for you,” she clarified, shaking her white-blonde hair back from her face. “I think that can be arranged.”

“I don’t take back my promises,” Margaery assured her. She leaned down to unzip her skirt.

“Wait,” Dany said, and picked up the room phone. Twisting the cord around one finger, she ordered something in quick, accented French that Margaery couldn’t understand. Dany turned back to Margaery, grinning wolfishly. “Now let’s get you out of these clothes.”

In no time Margaery was out of her blouse, bra, skirt, panties, stockings, and heels. She lay back on the bed with her head on the pillow, gazing up at Dany as Dany ran her fingers over Margaery’s body, gentling her like a cat. Margaery shivered at the touch, as Dany’s short nails ran over her breast and down her abdomen.

“I like you naked,” Dany said thoughtfully, tracing a circle on the taut drum of Margaery’s stomach. Her blonde hair fell across one shoulder, giving her face a cast of sweetness. “Although I have to say, you do wear clothes better than any other campaign manager I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll add that to my resume,” Margaery quipped. She stared directly at Dany as Dany’s fingers dipped between her legs, and Dany gazed calmly back down, not wavering at all.

“Stay still,” Dany said quietly, the fabric of her jeans pressing against Margaery’s naked hip. “Look at me.” Dany’s fingers slid deeper, and Margaery lost her breath for a moment. But she didn’t look away.

Mercifully or not, the room bell chimed. With one last stroke against Margaery’s heated slickness that made Margaery bite back a groan, Dany got to her feet, popping her fingers in her mouth to lick them clean before crossing out to the door. Margaery’s breath hitched.

_That’s my boss. I’m fucking my boss._

“ _Oui_?” she heard Dany say, and a man’s voice speaking in French, before Dany cut in again. “ _Non, non_ , _je peux prendre_. _Merci_.”

The door closed, and Dany reappeared with a heavy tray in her arms, with two champagne flutes and a Veuve Cliquot bottle sunk into a golden ice bucket. She set it on the table and gave Margaery a sideways smirk.

“Really?” Margaery said, propping herself up on her elbows. She felt a bit like an expensive call girl. It wasn’t a bad feeling.

“Oh, yes,” Dany said, placing a towel over the top of the champagne bottle and beginning to work on it. “When in Paris, you know.”

Margaery rolled onto her side, putting her body on full display. She liked the way that Dany’s eyes raked her up and down, with cool sleek hunger. “Do you do this for all your employees?”

“Only the ones I take on private vacations to Europe,” Dany smiled, the hunger in her eyes laced with sweetness, and the cork popped out with a bang. “Which means… only you. And—there we go.” She poured champagne into two flutes and brought them over to the bed; Margaery sat up to accept hers, and Dany settled onto the edge of the bed beside her.

“Well, cheers. Here’s to the beginning of a beautiful partnership,” Dany said, raising her glass to Margaery. Margaery clinked their glasses together and they drank.

“So, should we take that shower now?” Margaery asked slyly. “Or a bath?”

“Maybe later,” Dany said, taking the glass from Margaery’s hand and setting it on the gilt-edged nightstand. “But for now…” She tipped her hand and very deliberately spilled a bit of her own champagne in the space between Margaery’s breasts, and both of them watched as it trickled down to Margaery’s navel.

Margaery’s eyes flicked up to meet Dany’s, and she didn’t move. She just waited to see what the other woman would do.

Dany leaned down to chase the trail of champagne with her tongue. “For now,” she continued, pushing Margaery down to lie flat on the bed in a way that turned Margaery on in more ways than one, “I have a better idea.”

And this time when Dany put her head between Margaery’s legs, Margaery really did scream.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Yeah... I'm not even sorry.
> 
>  **Note:** Dany's political background is modeled after Ann Richards, who was the 45th governor of Texas, and Drogo is based on Jesse Ventura, who was Minnesota's governor from 1999 to 2003. He really is a former wrestler who ran as an Independent.


End file.
